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Queer as Scent Author: Liz
Barr "Demon-summoning? Today? Here? Lucius, how could you?" Narcissa's cry echoed through the bathroom and beyond, probably to the ends of Malfoy Manor. She shut her mouth, took a deep breath and said, "We've only just dealt with the last infestation - which, I shouldn't have to remind you, predated our wedding. Is He out of his mind?" To give Lucius credit, he didn't so much as blink, let alone give the obvious answer. Another wizard might make a joke, but then, another wizard might lack Lucius' deep, terrifying loyalty. He merely said, "The Dark Lord has his reasons. The auspices are very promising today." Just like the other three times, he didn't say. In the early days of her marriage, when the image of the Dark Mark on her husband's skin had been indelibly planted in her mind, Narcissa had wondered whether some of his family's odder tendencies couldn't be attributed to the Manor's proximity to the Seven Sisters. After all, no one really knew anything about Druid magic, and the Sisters, standing on the boundary between Manor grounds and their Muggle neighbours, were the focus of legends predating even the Malfoy family. In the end, she'd been forced to conclude that the Malfoy family could be perfectly psychotic - but we'll break the tradition, she thought, glancing at her abdomen, you just watch - without the aid of supernatural landmarks. But the Sisters remained a focal point for Lucius' own Dark experiments. And those of others. Every woman has to put up with having her husband's friends hanging around, making nuisances of themselves. Of course, for most women, that means having them drinking Butterbeer and getting over-excited about the Quidditch. But no, Lucius has to go that little step further… "Demon-summoning," she muttered. Lucius rubbed her shoulders, and Narcissa resisted the temptation to simply collapse against him. "Has the nausea passed? They'll be expecting us-" "I can't." Or rather, she wouldn't, but the ever-so-amusingly-misnamed morning sickness was just the excuse she needed. I've avoided meeting Him for fifteen months. Not this hour, please. Not yet. She wasn't brave, after all. She was a Slytherin, and more than that, a Slytherin woman. Decorative and dangerous, but not brave. "I'm still feeling rather … unsteady. I'm not sure we should risk it…" If Lucius saw through her prevarication, he gave no hint of it, washing her face and carrying her through the corridors to her office. The Levo Charm reduced the weight of her body, but couldn't diminish the cares on her heart. But for a second, just a second, she was able to look at him and feel safe, to see the man she'd trusted and loved, instead of the Death Eater she'd come to regard with wary fear. It's not simply a case of deciding not to love him, she'd written in a letter only a few days ago, I might as well cut off my right hand. Anyway, I'm hardly so naïve that I thought he was a shining example of wizarding morality. But I've learnt to be careful. He opened a window and made sure she was comfortable. He hovered even after she was settled, looking so helpless and worried that Narcissa was tempted to ruffle his hair and reassure him, like a little boy. Instead, she touched his hand and said, "You'd better go. You'll be late." He nodded, kissed her cheek and hurried away. It would not do, after all, for the Dark Lord to be kept waiting. We tie ourselves up, and then complain because we can't get free. Narcissa bit her lip and escaped to the relative sanity of the household accounts. They were tangled - they were always tangled - but she understood numbers. Numbers provided safety, and certainty, and anyway, it was her money paying for the Manor's upkeep. Not that anyone overtly discussed it, but she knew she'd been chosen as much for the money as anything else. Money, then purity of blood. Then beauty. Then personality. All things considered, she was lucky. This was more than a marriage of convenience. Lucius loved her. And was determined that they should share their lives, and be happy in doing so. If only he weren't so determined to share everything. If only, if only… The baby kicked. Narcissa touched her belly and tried to come up with soothing thoughts. She was interrupted by the flap of wings, and a small owl alighted on the windowsill. It carried a letter, heavily Charmed so that even the author's handwriting was disguised. Narcissa read it three times, and reluctantly destroyed it. It's only parchment, after all. Do you really think Lily treasures every letter you send her? School is over. Welcome to the real world. Her reply was determinedly cheerful. No mention was made of the Seven Sisters, or the Dark Lord, even Lucius was only referred to by name once. Their world was, after all, at war. Narcissa stared absently at her reflection, distorted in the highly polished surface of her desk. It flickered. She froze, wondering if she should add hallucinations to the already-long list of pregnancy complications. Then the world convulsed. Outside her window, ancient trees were bent like saplings in a breeze, and everything seemed to shift in the sudden unnatural twilight. The stillness that followed felt more natural, as if a winded universe lay on its back and wondered what had hit it. I think I can make a guess. Death Eaters. Worse than Quidditch hooligans. And Lily thinks she has problems. Narcissa's hand hovered over the silver bell on her desk. Malfoys did not gossip with servants: it was a mantra her mother-in-law - thankfully absent - liked to repeat, as if Narcissa were a child. No - worse. Nouveau riche. She rang the bell. The housekeeper arrived quickly, and Narcissa wondered if she hadn't been lurking near the office anyway, waiting to see what the Manor's lady would do. But that was ridiculous, surely. This place was making her paranoid. "Mrs P.," she said carefully, "may I assume you noticed … something … a few moments ago?" There was a hint of respect in Mrs P.'s eyes, but her face was otherwise bland as she said, "Ma'am?" "You've been with the Family for … seven years, is it? And your mother before you, I'm told." "And her mother before her, ma'am." "So … would you have any idea of what just happened? With your greater knowledge and experience of the Manor?" Mrs P. paused, weighing her words. "Well, it's not rightly my place to say, but we - that is, I - worried there'd be trouble when we heard His Lordship would be out at the Sisters on the same day as the Muggle meeting on Lord Fontwell's estate." "'Meeting?'" For a moment, Narcissa was assailed by a vision of stakes, flames and angry Muggles, but then common sense intervened: she had it on good authority that that sort of thing hardly ever happened anymore. "Horses, dogs, red coats…" "A hunt, then." Her father having been something of an expert in a narrow area of Muggle sociology, Narcissa was vaguely familiar with the concept. Other worries arose: "how did they get onto Malfoy land? I thought the wards-" "Well, that was Mr Malfoy's doing, ma'am." Mrs P. kept her eyes steadily on some point over Narcissa's shoulder. "Old Mr Malfoy, I should say. He liked to watch." "Watch." "The fox hunts. From the Temple of the Winds. And if they were going especially well, he'd lower the wards around the land so they could enter the grounds. And then he'd wait. For the defences to work." "Merlin." Narcissa took a deep breath, straightened her back and said, "Right, then. Find someone expendable, reliable and good at hiding, and send him or her up there to find out what's going on. Lay on a full champagne reception, don't worry about the cost. Empty the cellars if you have to-" Though it would take a lot more than a few Death Eaters and their Dark Lord to deplete the Malfoy collection, no matter how serious the crisis - "just make sure that it's good." Looks like you're going to meet the Dark Lord this morning after all. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rush, but somehow, the prospect seemed increasingly less terrifying. I can cope. I will cope. Narcissa glanced down at her well-made, well-worn robes. "And send someone to help me dress," she added. "Yes, milady." This time, there was no doubting the respect in Mrs P.'s eyes as she departed. *** Lucius was alive: Narcissa's pulse slowed a fraction as she recognised his hair in the crowd in the large reception hall below. She caught his eye as she descended the staircase, and the crowd of nervous wizards parted to let her approach him. She did not allow herself to think of the other man she approached, forcing herself to keep her face still as she met his angry, red-flecked eyes. "Lucius," she said, keeping her voice low, "will you do me the honour…?" "Of course." She glimpsed pure, profound relief in his eyes as she dropped into a curtsey. "My lord - my wife, Narcissa Malfoy, the Lady of my house." "Mrs Malfoy." There was a hint of sibilance in the Dark Lord's voice, something other than human. "My lord," she said, "I offer the hospitality of the Manor. To the last drop." Her inflections were all wrong; she prayed that Voldemort would be too busy appreciating the plunging neckline of her robes and her abject submissiveness to pay attention to verbal nuances. And that her final words would not prove prophetic; she suppressed the urge to flee, to take her baby away from this place and this future… There was a soft hiss, and the Dark Lord said, "I would not reject such a welcome. Nor the lady who offers it." Narcissa kept her eyes on the floor, as the clink of glasses revealed that Mrs P. and her people had begun to circulate. A servant's shadow fell over her as Voldemort accepted a glass of champagne, but she did not dare to look up; she had no desire to meet those eyes again. "Good fortune to you, Malfoy, and your house." The toast was echoed around the room; Narcissa took her opportunity to slip away. Lucius found her some time later in the sitting room off the hall, his eyes widening in relief as he found her. "My love." His eyes were possessive, and proud, and his mouth was soft. She could almost forget, as he touched her, the reason for his - their - relief. Almost. But she let it go as he undid her robes; they were co-conspirators, and they had succeeded. Afterwards she asked, "What happened this morning? Out at the Sisters?" He scowled. "We could have been killed. He could have been killed." What a tragedy that would have been, Narcissa thought, but she simply said, "Go on." "We had almost completed the ritual - He had poured his power into it, the risks were enormous, but the rewards - well. The risk was worthwhile. But at the very moment the ritual was to be completed, something shot out of the Circle and came straight for Voldemort. A demon, we thought." "A fox." "Why yes, how did you know?" She waved a hand dismissively. "Never mind that now. What happened next?" "The fox was followed by three Muggles on horses, and quite a few dogs. The magic from the ritual was still building up, and that cursed fox was still running around … and things became rather confused for several minutes, until He broke the Circle and ordered us all to Apparate back here. Where … well. If not for your quick thinking…" She could imagine. "And the - the - remains?" "Remains?" "The Muggles." "Oh, those." Lucius shrugged. "The weather's cool. I'll have someone clear up the mess after supper." Narcissa froze. "You left them there? To be found by the rest of the hunt?" She stood up and began dressing. "The rest of what?" "You didn't know?" She suppressed her rant about the many and various eccentricities, oddities and psychoses of his family, and simply said, "Your father liked to watch the Muggle fox hunts. He dropped the wards to allow them to enter the grounds. And the whole area around the Sisters is probably crawling with Muggles - powerful and wealthy Muggles, whose disappearance certainly won't go unnoticed - right now. Not to mention the remnants of the early Dark magic. And any minute now, the Manor defences are going to start operating, so unless you see some advantage in forcing the Dark Lord's hand and declare open war against the Muggles-" Lucius paled. "I'll fix the wards. That will buy us some time. But the Dark Lord is in the next room-" "Go. Tell him - tell him anything, as long as I don't have to make another appearance before tonight. Keep him busy - ply him with alcohol, or the blood of virgins, or whatever he wants, but keep him away from me. In fact, keep him away from the smaller reception room and the front hall." She deliberately rested her hand on her abdomen, feeling the baby kick, as she said, "We mustn't put Him in a position where His hand will be forced. He'll never be able to take on both the Ministry and the Muggles at the same time." Lucius nodded, dropped a kiss on her brow and left. As soon as the door had shut behind him, Narcissa rang the silver bell she'd concealed in a pocket. Mrs P. looked strained. "There are Muggles all around the Sisters, ma'am, more every hour. And-" she looked out the front window - "there's one riding up the drive now, ma'am, wanting an explanation." "Very well, then. Send people - no house elves - out to help with the bodies. Tell the Muggles that we're clearing the ground for their own protection. No other explanations are to be offered - and tell your people that I will personally eviscerate them and give them to the gardeners for compost if they are even slightly rude to the Muggles." "Yes, ma'am." "And send someone to help me change - these robes are all wrong." *** The Muggle - the fox-Master - waited for Narcissa in the smaller reception room at the front of the house. His face softened as he saw her: the demure gown and tremulous smile were perfect. "Good afternoon," she said, "I'm Narcissa Malfoy. I'm so terribly sorry that we had to meet under these circumstances…" It was true what they said about Muggles, she thought dispassionately as she held out little tendrils of falsehood and watched as he wove the lies himself. They really were determined to avoid seeing what was under their noses, and would rather create a conspiracy theory out of nothing than consider that magic might be at work. Of course, if stupidity were a capital crime, none of us would have lived long enough to be in this situation. As comforting thoughts went, she'd had better. A tendril of nausea snaked through her stomach, and she hurried to the bathroom. The voices downstairs faded when she closed the door. Narcissa retched, though her stomach was empty. Merlin, why are we bringing someone else into this mess? Lucius will never leave, I can't escape … the poor child is going to end up with the Dark Lord for a godfather… With a stab of envy, she thought of Lily. Even if her husband dropped dead tomorrow - and she had no doubt that there were more than a few people willing to do the deed downstairs - she wouldn't have to cater for the Dark Lord any time in the future. She was free to raise her child in any way she saw fit. Narcissa didn't have that luxury. Well. At the very least, I can instil enough simple taste into his head that he doesn't think the Dark Mark would be the perfect accessory. Or enough common sense that he doesn't throw his lot in with the most powerful, capricious Dark wizard around. But they'd survive. Perhaps they'd even be happy. Or safe, though surely that was asking too much. She did hope that Voldemort had no food allergies. Lucius had given her reams of information about his preferences; by all accounts, being the Dark Lord meant never having to eat your greens. Oh, Lucius… It's not simply a case of deciding not to love him. I might as well cut off my right hand. The baby kicked. Narcissa washed her face and went to lie down. end Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to their owners/creators/copyright holders. This fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights. |
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